


Not Spoken In Haste

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Injury, Prompt Fic, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Watson said nothing at the time. Written for JWP #23: 'Tis But a Scratch.





	Not Spoken In Haste

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: No idea where this came from, but that's part of the fun of JWP. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
> Author's Notes: Written for JWP #23: ’Tis But a Scratch. We’re called Watson's Woes, folks... Have Watson choose to hide something bad from Holmes, or to minimize it, for whatever reason; it may or may not end well. The last time we had this prompt, [I went in a very different direction](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7364968).

I saw the unlucky collision that sent Doctor Watson into the pile of crates with Constable Barnes and the smuggler atop him. I saw, too, how he winced as he rose, and how his colour changed. But he said nothing about it when Mr Holmes arrived a few minutes later, with that keen look in his eyes and quick way of speaking he has when he’s hot on the trail. So I said nothing either, not then, not when we went whisking off in a cab. By the time we’d confronted the shipping agent in his office, and I’d made the arrest, I’d mostly forgotten all about it.  
  
“I believe we can leave the rest of the details in your capable hands, Inspector Hopkins,” Mr Holmes said, as two bobbies led the swearing, struggling man away. “Another triumph for the Yard! As for us, Watson, I believe we might be in time for the late seating at Simpson’s.”  
  
Doctor Watson was leaning against the wall of the office, near the door, where he’d stationed himself when we’d first come in. He gave Mr Holmes a bit of a smile, nothing like his usual ones, and I realized only then how bad his colour looked in the gaslight.  
  
“I’m afraid I’m not quite up for dinner, Holmes,” was all he said before his legs gave out from under him and he slid down the wall.  
  
I might have twitted Mr Holmes about it, how he’d failed to notice there was anything wrong with Doctor Watson, once he’d been seen by a doctor and we knew he was safe. (Well, relatively safe – two cracked ribs and a wrenched knee are a serious matter, but not likely to kill a man.) Goodness knows I’ve smarted often enough under Mr Holmes’ disparaging remarks about how I fail to see things. It would have been natural to get a bit of my own back, but when it comes right down to it, it would have been cruel and unnecessary both. I could see perfectly well that nothing I could have said would have equalled what Mr Holmes was saying to himself. And I respect myself too much to be so petty.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 23, 2017.


End file.
